


Herz Aus Stein - Origins of a German

by PrincePierce



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: 2P, Alternate Universe - Nazi Germany, F/M, Gen, Hetalia, WWII, World War Two
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 19:36:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5978742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincePierce/pseuds/PrincePierce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First snippet of my fic, very short but it's a thing. I'll be adding more parts to it once I get them organized. I hope you enjoy!</p>
<p>Meet Lutz Beilschmidt, AND his boss...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

“You're an interesting fellow, aren't you?” the man asked, his grin full of power and smugness. “Where did you say you were from, again?” he inquired, leaning back in his chair and crossing his hands over his stomach.

“Outside of Leipzig, sir. A small orphanage. I was removed for aggressive behaviors,” Lutz explained, his hands by his sides. His blue-violet eyes did not scan the room around him, but instead, were fixated on the man in front of him. He had dark, well groomed hair, a tiny patch of hair on his upper lip, and the overall air of a man who only feared within himself. Was this the man that all of Germany had put their faith in? The uniform the man wore said yes.

“Leipzig, hm? And how old are you now?” the man asked, raising his eyebrows at Lutz with inquiry. Swallowing, Lutz cleared his throat. He wasn't used to such interrogation.

“Seventeen, sir,” Lutz nodded, then watched as the uniformed man stood. He was about 6 inches shorter than Lutz's 6'4 stature. Not a very intimidating man on height, if he had to admit.

“You're nearly a man, aren't you, Mr.Beilschmidt?” the shorter man hummed and stepped closer to Lutz. “Not quite, but nearly. Certainly old enough to serve the Fatherland, yes?” he shrugged, then leaned back onto his desk. This man's constant movement made Lutz feel a little on edge, but this meeting was very important. “And you're a brute! Look at you!” he laughed, reaching out to pat Lutz' arm. “You will serve us damn well. DAMN well!” he declared.

In relief, Lutz exhaled. He now became aware of the thudding in his chest of his heart, and the bead of sweat slinking down the back of his neck. His face was flush, and with a clearing of his throat, Lutz found that even breathing was difficult before the man became very friendly. But, being in front of such an important man, Lutz had to still stand at complete attention. It was disrespectful to be a slob.

“Alright, Beilschmidt. I'll be watching you and checking up on you often. You may have what it takes to move up in this world,” the shorter man hummed, then turned a little trinket on his desk, fidgeting with it. “You're dismissed,” he smiled, then shooed Lutz away with a sweeping motion of his hand.

After saluting, Lutz walked quickly out of the office he was standing in. Pressure seemed to weigh heavily on his skull, his heartbeat echoing through his ears and sending a throb through his brain in a steady rhythm. His thoughts were racing past him at such speeds that he couldn't grasp them. As soon as he gathered one, four more slipped between his ears. His mind was sputtering out whatever had been manually suppressed during his meeting.

After a few moments of just standing on the street, the whipping thoughts subsided and Lutz noticed that the street was littered with many men in uniform. Black, with red bands about a single arm. They weren't like normal green uniformed police, they were meaner, more experienced, and Lutz was now among their ranks.


	2. Sachsenhausen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lutz has been assigned to Sachsenhausen, a concentration camp, to work. Here, he gets is first taste of power, and his first encounter with a certain rat.

The shuffling of these feet was nothing like the marching that Lutz was used to hearing. These feet dragged, pittered, and were completely disharmonious, unlike the metronome thudding of boots of one hundred men, all in sync with one another. He enjoyed the organized movements of the military men, but this senseless bumbling only angered him.

The hard pinching of a chain around his wrist, pulled taut by the angry German Shepherd at the other end, caused the already present snarl on Lutz’s face to increase. The dog, named Sebastian, had been assigned to him. Trained to be aggressive to anyone, and trained to latch on with just a command. Lutz knew the dog was helpful, but he would be getting quite the workout from holding it back.

“Please, if I can have your attention!” a strong voice broke through the dull roar of confusion. All eyes were drawn to an SS man, standing over all the others, a large rifle in his hands. “Welcome to Sachsenhausen, your new home! If you all will organize yourself into two lines, one for able-bodied men, and the other for women and children, we will not have to,” he explained, giving a deceptively friendly smile. It was like looking at a badly disguised wolf. You knew he was a wolf, but to these dumb sheep, he was a friend.

However, the mention of separating the people into groups caused a frenzy. Like frightened chickens in a coup, they started to circle and zig zag, frantically searching for their families. The man who was still standing above them all, gave a nod to the soldiers standing around, Lutz included. After chaining Sebastian down to a nearby fencepost, Lutz started into the whirlpool of Jewish people and approaching soldiers with batons.

His hand clamped down hard on a man's shoulder, the other hand landing flat on the chest of the woman he seemed to desperate to keep a hold on. Prying them apart, Lutz shoved the woman roughly to the ground and shoved the man towards the line he was meant to be in.

A twang of regret shocked his heart for only a moment, before he was rushed by the euphoria of being this powerful. To be this much above these things, who no longer were people in his mind. They were disgusting creatures, burdens, not people. Any empathy he may have had was smothered by the ecstasy of playing puppeteer for a moment.

Once the soldiers had intervened, the Jews dispersed more quickly, avoiding the harm that would come from the large militants and their clubs. Women in one line held their children close, while the men stared across the gap between the two lines. The seemingly endless gap was lined with the soldiers, and getting to the other side would prove more difficult than trying to walk through a brick wall.

“Very good!” the directing man declared, who had watched from his perch above the others, rather than doing anything. “That wasn't so hard, now was it?” he cooed, his tone very condescending. He then watched the corralled sheep with stalking brown eyes and a predatory grin. It seemed that the pure thought of these Jews being so clueless about what was to come next brought him pure joy.

“Proceed,” was his only word before stepping down from his pedestal. The armed Nazi soldiers began to direct the lines in opposite directions.  
\--------------  
Processing the Jewish people was a tedious process, and the lack of fight in some of them bored Lutz to tears. Many of them had already accepted their fate, and this disappointed him extremely. Shouldn't they fight for the slightest shred of hope that they do not have? Shouldn't they have clung harder to freedom? Perhaps they were only reserved, and not fighting now. Still, Lutz wanted more... action.

Thinking of the events from earlier, Lutz brought a glass of beer to his lips, letting the liquid fill his mouth and quench his thirst. He couldn't imagine the kind of thirst the Jews must have been experiencing, but then again, he wasn't trying very hard either. Was he supposed to care? Was he really going to pity them? They should have felt lucky that they had been allowed to live! And they were privileged to still serve and work for the country.

“Ungrateful little bastards...” Lutz growled to himself, before swigging back another mouthful of liquor. A firm hand landed on his shoulder, causing Lutz to jump and be yanked from his thoughts. He looked up, greeted by a sharp featured rat of a man, with short cut, dark hair, and a long crooked nose. His teeth peeked out from behind his bottom lip, and his beady little eyes were nearly black in color.

“Aren't they?” the man asked, a squiggly grin on his thin lips. Lutz blinked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“The Jews. Ungrateful bastards, am I right?” he laughed, then sat beside Lutz. Lutz was weary of this little man, with his rodent-eqsue features. The rat man cleared he throat and thrust his hand out towards Lutz. “Pardon me! Name's Zweber. Ubel Zweber, just a humble guard,” he grinned. Lutz eyed Ubel's hand, a furrow on his brow.

“Ludwig Schmidt, Lutz for short,” Lutz responded, taking Ubel's hand with a firm grasp. Ubel's hand was limp, much like a dead fish. A disgusted look crossed Lutz's face and he pulled his hand away quickly. The other man didn't seem to mind, or even notice. The more Lutz sat here, the less and less he liked being around this 'Ubel' character.

“You are quite young as a soldier. Not much older than a boy, I'd guess. I am correct?” Ubel asked, easing the tension a bit. He sat forward and claimed a drink that was sitting at the table. “Not that I think it is anything but an honor. The younger boys are often stronger, and less driven by emotion. Your brains are so primal at this age,” Ubel commented.

“I don't recall answering your question. How can you assume my age if I do not tell you? At any rate, yes, I am young. But I refuse to be treated like less of a soldier for it. I've gone through training just like the rest of the men here,” Lutz retorted, making Ubel put his hands up, as if he were going to be attacked for his assumption. Rolling his eyes back, Lutz took a long drink from his beer, which had become like water to him over time.

He prayed Ubel would leave. He prayed that this bastard would get the hint that Lutz did not want to talk to him. Unfortunately, he wasn't getting it, and continued to sit near, talking idly. Lutz had quickly tuned out, his eye twitching with irate nerves. It was only when Ubel brought up the prisoners in conversation that Lutz checked back in.

“Lothar, Barnard, and I will be meeting up with a few of the prisoners who think they will be getting extra ration for a special service. Perhaps you would like to join us?” Ubel asked, raising an eyebrow at Lutz, a crooked smile once again gracing his ugly features. This time, Lutz mimicked him, his own grin unfurling. Seeing this look on Lutz's face, the rat started to snicker, knowing that he had picked the right guy to talk to this evening.


	3. Begin the Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lutz begins his decent into a darker, more sadistic mindset.
> 
> **This chapter contains graphic descriptions.

“N-no! Please! I have been working as hard as my bones will let me!” A small man begged, backing away from Lutz. Lutz's new friends all stood in a line behind him, waiting in anticipation as Lutz approached, clutching a billy club in gloved hands. There was a single moment of questioning in his mind, if he should actually harm this little lady bug of a man.

“Well, what are you waiting for, Beilschmidt?” Ubel asked, shifting and crossing his arms. “Or are you a Jew-Lover?” he teased, and the other two, started to chant. “Jew-Lover, Jew-Lover!”. Lutz felt his shoulders get stiff and his grip become rigid around the club. He was many things, but being a 'Jew-Lover' was far from anything he was. It was worse than being a coward.

An animalistic growl came from Lutz as he hauled out, bringing the club down on the small Jewish man. The shock of the hard weapon contacting firm human bone through a thin layer of malnourished muscle and skin traveled up Lutz's arm to his shoulder. He pulled back quickly, his breathing heavy, not from the sudden exertion but the immediate rush of violence. His ears were ringing, but he knew the chanting had gone quiet.

He looked at the Jewish man, who was writhing on the ground, clutching his arm, where Lutz had hit him. As if a demon had come forward and took over Lutz's thoughts and actions, he swung the billy again, connecting it to the Jew's distended belly. A choking noise came from him, blood flying. Any thought that this should stop, he denied, delivering another whack to the poor man, this time a horrid crack echoing out. The man's jaw was visibly caved at the impact point, clearly shattered.

“Stop crying,” Lutz demanded of the prisoner. “You're lucky you can still breathe with life in your lungs!” he barked, then turned back to the three who'd brought him out here. While the Jewish man struggled to control his breathing and crying despite the terrible pain in his body, Lutz was approached by the other three.

“I am NOT a Jew-Lover,” Lutz growled, then handed off the billy club, a glistening spatter of blood on the rod from the Jew's coughing. “Now, we had best let the baby have his little cry,” he scoffed, and strode away towards the bunks.

\-----Some months later-------

Sniping was something Lutz tended to have a natural talent for. Lining up the shot for a single and very fatal contact on targets. Sure, it wasn’t the same as hearing their breath hitch with surprise, burble with blood, or slow to a stop, but watching the panic around them was a wonderful show to watch. And thanks to his patrols in the watchtowers, he got a couple good practice shots a day.

Picking the target wasn’t hard. Ones who’d gotten away with sass earlier, or those who just weren’t working well enough were good. The young ones with life left in their eyes were personal favorites of Lutz. The ones who had just arrived and avoided being shipped off to another camp. Unlucky bastards who had been thrust at full speed into hell suddenly. There was so much satisfaction that he found with offing them.

It was always fun for him to stalk and watch them after being picked. To fully study their gaits, their way their bellies stretched under their striped clothing when their little lungs filled up with dusty air. the way they looked at others. If he watched through his scope long and hard enough, he could sometimes see the exact spot of their slowly beating hearts. After watching them for a few days, he would be satiated, and the wolf would pick off his prey.

He liked to wait until they were being moved from their beds to their work in the morning to pick them off. Nothing said good morning like target practice. If he was lucky, his little toy would be near the front. That way he could see everyone’s panic as bodily fluids spilled and life left the human form before it had the chance to fall. Caused an adorable mania, he thought. Especially when the other guards moved in to move them back into lines and push them along to work.

Several of the prisoners died when the guards moved in. It never failed


End file.
